


A Study In Dreams

by sanomizuki1



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Time, Guilty John, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, comatose Sherlock, marriage problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:13:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanomizuki1/pseuds/sanomizuki1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock get's injured during a case and he goes into a coma, leaving a guilty john at his bedside. Sherlock, still in the coma, wakes up in his bed to find that everything is different, including his relationship with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE: SORRY

 

“Where is he? Where’s Sherlock?” John demands, running through the hospitals corridor to the small group of police officers gathered at the end.

“John.” Lestrade says worriedly, stepping away from the other officers.

“Where?” John asks again, desperate. He had sprinted all the way from the parking lot, leaving Mary somewhere at the entrance.

 

“He’s in the ICU. No visitors are allowed right now.”

 

“What happened?” John asked shakily. He had gotten a call a half hour ago saying that Sherlock had been taken to the hospital and that it was bad. Nothing specific.

 

“You know Sherlock. He worked out who had been killing all those women. I told him to wait for back up.” Lestrade says, running a hand through his hair before continuing. 

“The bastard went after him anyway. When we got there, the perp had his hands around Sherlock’s throat. I got a shot off, but it was to late.” Lestrade said then paused for a moment.

 

“Sherlock…..he wasn’t breathing. I started CPR. Rescue services got there about three minutes later and got his heart going again but-” Lestrade pauses, looking away from John.

“But what, Greg?” John nearly shouts out.

 

“John.” Mary calls, having made it over a few moments ago, placing a hand on his arm to calm him.

John ignores it completely, staring at Lestrade until he turned back meeting his eyes tiredly.

 

“He’s in a coma.” Lestrade answers. “Sherlock’s in a coma”

“He’s-” John started, swallowing through the lump in his throat. 

 

“Where were your men? Where were you?” John asks angrily.

 

“Hey! I got there when I could! Sherlock doesn’t listen to anyone! You’re supposed to be his partner. Where have you been the last three cases he’s been on?” Lestrade let’s out roughly.

“Boss!” Donovan scolded, looking to John in sympathy.

 

“No.” John interrupts, looking down. “He’s right. I’ve let him down.” John says looking back up to Lestrade. 

“Who’s the attending? I want to speak with him.” John asks, trying his best to sound calm.

“I’m not sure. No one has been by yet to tell us anything.” Lestrade answers, looking guilty. “Look, John...I didn’t mean-”

“No. Me too.” John says giving the best smile he can muster and walks over towards the nurses station.

 

“Excuse me, I need to speak with the Doctor treating Sherlock Holmes.” John says to a heavy set nurse behind the counter.

“And you are?” She asks, looking up bothered, giving the slight impression that John is annoying her.

“John Watson.” He answers politely.

“Are you family, Mr. Watson?” She asks, looking down to her phone as it chimes.

“No, but we live together. He’s-”

“If you’re not a family member, there’s nothing I can do.” She says without looking up, typing away.

 

John was about two seconds away from climbing across the counter and forcing the information out of the nurse when he hears a familiar voice call his name.

 

“Dr. Watson.”

“Mycroft-” John turns, surprised. 

The rude nurse also looks up startled, before dropping her phone onto the table. Mycroft gives him a nod before fixing her with a pointed gaze.

“Dr. John Watson should be afforded any and all information he requires. Had you checked my brothers records, you would have seen that he has been added as next-of-kin.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes. Sorry.” She sputtered out nervously.

 

“Thank you.” John said, looking to Mycroft gratefully.

“No need to thank me, Dr. Watson. Putting you on his medical records was Sherlock’s idea.” Mycroft answered politely.

 

“Excuse me, sir.” The nurse called out. “Dr. Matthews is over seeing his care. I’ll just call him down for you.”

“That would be most appreciated.” Mycroft answered, his false smile back in place.

 

Not even five minutes later the doctor comes over to them.

“Mr. Holmes.” He greets with a hand shake before turning. “And you must be Dr. Watson.” He says reaching for his hand as well.

“How is he?” John asks, unable to calm his anxiety.

 

“He sustained a great deal of external injuries. He has significant bruising covering a great deal of his body. He is in a coma as a result of the cerebral hypoxia he sustained due to strangulation.” The doctor explained before turning grave eyes on the elder Holmes brother.

“There is no way of knowing when or if he will wake up. He’s on a ventilator. I’ve given him barbiturates and steroids to help slow things down. But only time will tell.”

“Can I see him?” John asks desperate.

“Normally, we would like to wait a little longer, but since you are a physician, I suppose I’ll allow it.” The doctor says after a moment. “Just go to the third floor and check in with the nurse there.”

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

“My God.” John says as he takes in the sight before him.

He has never seen Sherlock look so bruised...so broken.

 

“My brother really got himself into something this time.” Mycroft says in reply walking over to Sherlock’s bedside.

“I should have been there.” John whispers brokenly into the room.

“Yes.” The terse reply comes. Though John can’t really blame him. 

 

Suddenly John looks back over to Mycroft.

“The man that did this...is he-” 

“He’s been dealt with.” Mycroft states coldly.

“So he’s dead?” John asks more to himself. “Good.”

“Oh, not yet. But he’ll wish for it soon enough.” Mycroft replies anyway.

 

Moments pass by.

 

John and Mycroft both pull up chairs to Sherlock’s bedside, watching the rise and fall of his chest in silence until Mycroft breaks it.  
“Might I inquire as to the nature of you’re disagreement with my brother?”

 

“What?” John asks surprised that Mycroft even knows about that. Though in all honesty, he shouldn’t be.

 

“Perhaps I should be more specific, given the circumstances. The falling out that you had three weeks ago. That is the reason that you haven’t been working with him as of late, is it not?” Mycroft asks, his cold eyes focused on John now.

 

“Not that it’s really any of your business, but I found out that he had been researching into Mary’s past again. I saw the file on his computer. It was locked. I asked him to let me see the files. He refused and that was that.” John replies looking down. “I stormed out. Haven’t spoken to him since. He texted me a few times, but I was to stubborn to answer.”

“My brother, against all advice otherwise, has become quite fond of you. Any research he was doing was to protect you, you must know.” Mycroft replies looking back to his brother.

“I do know that. I was angry….and I took it out on him, but believe me, I know.” John says fighting back the tremor in his limbs.

Mycroft gives a nod before standing and regarding Sherlock once more.  
“Do get well, little brother.”

He walks around towards the door before he pauses.  
“I must go and put some things in order before I return. If you could possibly stay with him until then.”

“Of course I’m staying.” John answers immediately. He wasn’t leaving until Sherlock woke up.

“Very well. I shall return in the evening.”

 

As soon as Mycroft shut the door, John turned back to his friend.

 

“Sherlock-” He started, taking hold of his hand gently.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but…….I’m sorry.” He say brokenly.

“I’m sorry we fought and I’m sorry I was a stubborn arse hole. I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your texts. I’m sorry that I’ve been a rubbish friend to you lately and I’m-” He pauses, choking back on tears he refused to shed. 

Tears he had no right to shed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

“I am not sure what you’re trying to achieve, but you can not will his patient file to change simply by reading it upon every hour.” Mycroft comments not looking up from the paper that he is reading.

“I know that. I know this is a waiting game. I am a doctor.” John says taking his seat once more. “But because I’m a doctor, I know that every day that he doesn’t wake up means that his chances are dramatically lowered.”

“I have the best doctors attending to him. There is nothing more you nor I can do for him but wait.” Mycroft says.

“He would be surprised, you know.” John says after a moment with a weak chuckle.

“At what?” Mycroft asks, looking up finally.

“You. Being here. Staying at his bed side. You caring about him.” John answers.

“I have always cared for my brother.” Mycroft says earnestly.

“I know that. I’ve seen it, but I don’t think he does.” John says, looking over at his friend.

“Sherlock doesn’t see it because he doesn’t wish to see it.” Mycroft says, he tone giving away nothing of the worry he must be feeling. 

“In Sherlock’s eyes, I’m his nemesis. If he acknowledged that I cared, he would loose his arch-enemy. And my brother has always been quite theatrical.”

“I can only imagine.” John says. “Sometimes I wonder what a young Sherlock Holmes must have been like.” He says looking to the elder Holmes brother with a small smile.

“He was always getting into trouble. Always running odd experiments.” Mycroft says, his tone indulgent. “He followed me everywhere until I had to leave for the university. He was so angry with me he didn’t speak to me for a month.” Mycroft, John notices is smiling ever so slightly. “Everything changed after that. I’ve been his enemy ever since.”

“That’s actually really sad.” John answers after a moment, giving Mycroft a sad smile.

“Oh, come now, Dr. Watson. It was many years ago. No need for sentiment.” Mycroft says, his expression a mirror image to some he’s seen Sherlock make and John can feel his eyes getting moist.

“What?” Mycroft asks, slightly bothered when John continues looking at him.

“Nothing. You sound like him, is all.” John answers, looking down and wiping at his eye’s roughly.

“God. Look at me, getting emotional talking to Mycroft Holmes.” John says with a forced laugh.

“Sherlock would be absolutely horrified.” Mycroft comments, leveling John with a small conspiratorial smile.

“That he would.” John answers, smiling just a little in return.

 

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It had been three days.

John had stayed at Sherlock’s side, only leaving when the nurses would come in to tend to the more personal needs.

Mycroft came by twice every day.

Each time he would have tea and food with him for John.

John drank the tea gratefully, but he couldn’t find the appetite to eat much of anything, even if he was sure that each meal Mycroft brought was probably more expensive than the clothes on his back.

 

Mary had come every day as well, though not to see Sherlock.

She wanted him to come home.

To be with her.

John had refused, his guilt over those words making his resolve that much stronger.

 

It was because he had been with her that Sherlock was alone that night.

John had been sitting at home, without a care in the world, Mary tucked into his side on the sofa, and Sherlock was being strangled.

Almost killed.

He had been, really. For a couple of minutes, Lestrade had told him.

 

This time, Mary had come with the change of clothes that John had asked for.

Only when he reached out for them, Mary tightened her hold around the clothes.

John knew where this conversation was going and he turned back towards his friend.

 

“John-” Mary says in that way she does when she’s putting her foot down, but John’s not going to hear any of it this time.

 

“I’m not leaving him.” He says sternly, not giving her the chance to even start.

 

Mary let’s out an exasperated breath and John want’s to shove her out the door.

 

“He wouldn’t want you to become ill staying at his bedside.” Mary says, more gently this time. 

“I wouldn’t be at his bedside if I had been a good friend. I would have been able to protect him.” John answers back a little harsher than he intended.

Mary’s quiet for a moment.

“You need food and rest.” She says, scolding.

“Mycroft’s been bringing food and I can rest just fine in the chair.” He says, meeting her eyes.

She looks angry and frustrated, red in the face, but she takes a couple of breaths before she speaks again.

“John, you can’t beat yourself up over this. Sherlock lead a dangerous life. He was bound to come across an enemy who-”

“Stop talking in the past tense like he’s already dead!” John shouts. Mary flinches slightly and John’s anger drains almost immediately. 

“Mary, I’m sorry.” He says as soothingly as he can manage.

“It’s fine.” She answers stiffly, arms crossed around her large belly.

“No, it’s not. Come here.” John says, holding out his arms, though he can’t bring himself to smile. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” Mary say’s against his chest.

“I’ll try.” He whispers into her hair.


	2. Chapter two

CHAPTER TWO: STRANGE

 

Sherlock woke feeling slightly light headed.

 

Perhaps he had slept too much. 

Anything more than five hours usually gave him a headache.

Perhaps some paracetamol might do him a bit of good.

 

Sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed had Sherlock pausing. 

 

Odd. 

 

Something soft and unfamiliar touched his feet.

 

Looking down, Sherlock found that his feet were nestled in a very soft, beige rug.

 

That had not been in his room yesterday evening, he was sure. 

 

In fact, he had never seen it before in the flat anywhere.

 

Had Mrs. Hudson placed it here? Or John?

 

No.   
John never entered his room. 

Mrs. Hudson then.

 

Sherlock stood, stretching and walked languidly to his closet pausing again at what he saw.

 

Now this was just strange.

 

All of Sherlock’s clothes were pushed to the left, the whole right side of the closet filled with clothes that were not his own.

 

Pulling a sweater off the rack, Sherlock inspected it.

 

It was a hideous shade of green and absolutely familiar.

It was one of John’s jumpers.

 

In fact, upon closer inspection, all of the clothes on the right side of the closet were John’s.

John’s shoes were even lined up beside of Sherlock’s in the bottom of the closet.

 

Sherlock spun around taking in the rest of the room.

 

Little things were different all around.

A small white lamp he had never seen sat atop his desk.

The shockingly yellow throw blanket that John usually wrapped up with in the living room was draped over the small arm chair in the corner of his room.

There were five slightly large boxes stacked against the far wall next to the window.

His books, which were usually in stacks on his floor, were tidily placed in his book shelf.

His notes were even stacked on his desk neatly.

 

And his dresser was…...well not there.

 

This was John’s dresser.

 

What in Gods name was going on?

 

Sherlock walked over to it, opening the first drawer.

His socks.

The second revealed his pants and undershirts.

He pulled the third drawer open and stared.

These were not his pants. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing such garish colors.

He closed it and opened the last drawer.

Socks.

John’s socks.

So those offending garments must have been John’s pants.

 

Sherlock threw on his dressing gown and made his way out of his room.

 

What was the meaning of John moving his things into Sherlock’s room?

Was it some sort of childish prank?

Pay back for some unknown thing Sherlock must have done to anger him?

 

Exiting his room he could hear the water running in the bathroom.

 

John was in the shower.

And he was singing. 

It was terribly off key.

 

Walking up to the door, Sherlock knocked forcefully.

“Sherlock?” John called, the sound muffled through the closed door.

“John. There is something we must discuss.” Sherlock answered sternly.

“I’m almost done, but if it can’t wait why don’t you come in and join me?” John offered casually.

 

Sherlock sputtered a moment before regaining his composure.

“I will be waiting out here.” He answered quickly and made his way to his chair, sitting down.

 

Had John just asked him to join him in the shower?

Surely he hadn’t. Sherlock must have misheard.

 

When he moved into the living room, Sherlock noticed small differences here as well. 

 

It was a lot cleaner than usual for one thing.

But there were little odds and ends on surfaces and shelves he had never seen.

 

Turning around towards the window he let out a relieved sigh as he saw that his violin case was still perched against it.

 

A quick look at the mantle revealed that his skull was also where it should be.

On the other side of the mantle, however, stood a photo in a frame that had not been there before.

 

Sherlock stood and made his way to the photograph.

 

It was of him and John.

They were sitting at a table in Angelo’s. Sherlock was looking towards John smiling. John was looking down almost timidly, but he was smiling as well.

Their hands were intertwined on the table, and when had this photo been taken?

 

When had he and John ever…. held hands?

Well, besides the time that they were fugitives running from the law.

 

“Okay. What was so bloody important that you had to go banging on my door?” John asked cheerfully, startling Sherlock.

He turned quickly only to be shocked again.

John was standing in the middle of their living room in a towel and absolutely nothing else.

 

He watched Sherlock assess his state of dress and gave him a smirk when their eyes met.

 

Something was terribly wrong here.

 

“Sherlock?” He heard John call, his smirk being replaced by a look of concern.

 

“This isn’t right.” He said aloud, another wave of light-headedness hitting him. It took a little effort to keep from swaying.

“What’s not right? Sherlock?” John asked closing the distance between them and pulling Sherlock down into his chair.

Sherlock closed his eyes tightly as the dizziness slowly began to pass.

 

“Open your eyes, Sherlock. I need to check you out.” John said and Sherlock obeyed immediately.

 

John was crouched down in front of him looking up worried.

 

“Are you okay? You looked like you were going to tip over.” John said holding Sherlock’s face in his hands, checking his pupils.

“I’m fine now. Just some light-headedness.” He answered looking away.

 

John leaned in closer and Sherlock watched horrified as John’s towel fell open revealing...well everything.

 

Sherlock lifted his gaze back up to John’s face. He didn’t even seem to realize he was fully exposed.

 

“Are you lying to me Sherlock?” John asked sternly. “You said you needed to discuss something with me earlier, is it this? Are you sick?”

Sherlock shook his head, regretting it immediately.

“No. I’m not sick. I wanted to talk to you about my bedroom.” He answered, wincing at the new pain reverberating around his skull.

 

“Oh, yes. I forgot about that.” John said with a smile. “It will all be out of there by tonight, don’t worry.” 

“I thought I had angered you and you were exacting some strange form of revenge.” Sherlock said giving John a small smile.

 

“You do anger me quite often, but in this case, I’m afraid I just needed a temporary spot for it all until we get the other bedroom sorted out. Repair man should be finishing this afternoon.” John said, returning the smile.

Sherlock paused at that.

“Repair man?”

John snorted.

“Yes, the repair man, who is coming to fix the leak in the ceiling in my old bedroom, remember?”

 

Sherlock had no idea what John was talking about.

Perhaps he had been deep in thought at the time.

 

“So,” John starts again, giving Sherlock a big grin. “Are you sure you’re okay? I could always call in sick. We could go back to bed, make a whole day out of it.” John said, running both of his hands up Sherlock’s thighs all the way to his-

Sherlock shot up immediately.

“John!” He shouted, voice coming out a tad higher than usual.

John just stood, chuckling.

“What are you looking so scandalized for?” He asked teasingly before turning towards Sherlock’s bedroom door. “I’m going to get ready for work. If you change you’re mind, you know where I’ll be.” John says, his voice filled with hidden meaning.

 

Sherlock stood speechless for a moment.

 

What was happening?

 

John didn’t walk around in nothing but a towel. 

They didn’t touch each other the way John had touched him just moments ago.

And John definitely didn’t line his words with sexual innuendo when they spoke.

 

John was President, vice president and key speaker of the ‘I’m not gay’ club. 

 

There was something terribly wrong here.

 

“Well, I’m off since you’re not going to stop me.” John says walking out into the living room fully dressed. “I’ll be home early today, but if I’m not back on time I left payment for the repair man on the night stand.”

 

“Night stand.” Sherlock answered absently.

 

“Well, aren’t I even going to get a goodbye?” John says after a minute, and Sherlock looks up again.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Good bye.” Sherlock answers.

 

John frowns before walking over to where Sherlock was standing.

 

“Oh no you don’t.” He says sternly. “I want a real good bye.” He says, looking expectantly up at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock doesn’t know what he means, what he’s asking for so he stands there awkwardly.

 

John gives a huff and pulls Sherlock into a tight hug before plastering their mouths together in a deep kiss.

Sherlock makes a very undignified noise when John’s tongue slips past his lips and John ends the kiss with a small chuckle.

 

“Bye, Sherlock.” John whispers against Sherlock’s lips before pulling away and walking out the door.

 

Sherlock stares after him for a moment.

 

John had…..kissed him.

 

Right here in their living room like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it was something they did all the time.

 

Something was going on and Sherlock was going to figure out what.


End file.
